I don't know what happened to yesterday.
It’s that time again, the in-between time; the time between Christmas and New Year’s Day, the leftover days, the last few dregs of the year.
I don’t like these days, they’re uncomfortable, unsettling - like that big black bird in the tree. No time to do anything much, too much time to do nothing, but nothing much to do.
Leftover days, so full of leftovers - leftover wrapping paper, leftover Christmas pudding, leftover crackers, leftover turkey, leftover promises, leftover hopes, leftover dreams – leftovers. What a funny but accurate word.
I don’t know what I want to do, I don’t know what I want to eat, I don’t even know what I want to drink. I feel like leftovers myself, out of step with everything around me.
No not quite. I seem to be in step with the weather. The once white snow has gone, all turned to slush and lethal ice with rain, the sky’s a leaden grey, and the wind today has chilled the last of Christmas out of me.
I think I’ll lock the doors, light the fire, pour a drink and pretend there’s still a little poetry left in the season.
Uncomfortable times. Leftovers from my past? My present?
That bird up in the tree though.What's he looking at? Let's hope it's a glimmer of something bright in the distance. Let's hope it's coming our way.